Orchestra
by spartathreehundred
Summary: When it came down to it, he was an orchestra.


**Summary: When it came down to it, he was an orchestra.**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own anything from Dr Horrible.**

**A/N Please R&R **

When it came down to it, he was an orchestra.

At first, it started out with only the left half of the stage filled. The people played wonderfully. Passion practically dripped from every harmonious note that was emitted from the instruments. The skill that burned within each individual performer only enhanced it, and gave the blind passion guidance to make something truly beautiful. And, of course, the conductor was there to keep everyone organized and in check. The mood of the music would vary from joyous to morose, but it would always pick up by the end of the tune if the latter occurred. The orchestra stood strong, and could have easily sustained itself.

Then, when Billy was eight, he avidly watched a battle outside his school between Justice Joe, and Mister Maniacal. Joe had strength, but Maniacal was a criminal mastermind. He easily defeated Joe with one of his rays, and proved that someone's mind is far superior to someone's strength.

That was when the newcomers trickled into the orchestra.

They were hardly noticed at first. Just two or three silently walked into the theater, sat down in a few unoccupied chairs on the right side of the stage, and played along with the existing orchestra. More and more newcomers would come to the stage and take their place by the others, until the entire side of the stage was filled to the brim with these new people. It was made quite evident that these people were very different from the original orchestra. The passion that was so present in the music coming from left stage deeply contrasted the music from the right. There, passion was replaced with an almost robotic sense of mindless need to grind out more and more notes. However, the skill of the newcomers far surpassed that of left stage. Each note was played with cutting edge precision that no one could deny, and they rang out clear throughout the theater.

When the music flowing from the left intertwined with the right, something downright spectacular was created. The unequivocal skill shaped the intense passion, and gave the harmony a brilliance that was omnipresent within the theater. Of course, the newcomers were welcomed into the orchestra with open arms, while the left side of the stage and the conductor were dangerously unaware that these new people would be their downfall.

As Captain Hammer led the girl of Billy's dreams out the door of the laundromat, something changed within the theater.

The music coming from right stage dramatically increased its tempo. As the music got faster, it also got louder. The deafening, quick-paced music picked up huge momentum, until it got to the point where it thundered throughout the theater and vibrated the orchestra to its very core. Left stage was nearly drowned out by their partners on the right, and the conductor could barely control them. But this paled in comparison to what would happen shortly after.

As Billy spotted Penny slumped against the wall with the light fading from her eyes, right stage ceased playing so they could watch the scene before them unfold.

Suddenly, left stage panicked. With wide eyed expressions, they frantically attempted to force their instruments to play faster and harder. Strings snapped against the fraying bows. Drums were punctured by the sheer force of the mallets against them. The conductor's baton snapped against the music stand, useless. The orchestra was slowly falling apart, piece by piece. The conductor tried to assure them, tried to calm them from their frantic state. But even he knew it was futile, the inevitability of failure looming over him like a dark cloud.

Then Penny was wheeled away on the gurney, and the fire began.

The sheet music burst into flames. The fire burned with a glow that was as red as her hair, her blood. It eagerly consumed the delicate pieces of parchment and traveled down to the floor. Left stage tried uselessly to smother the flames with a growing premonition that it would engulf them all. The fire spread across the entire half of the stage, but right stage remained untouched by the strange flame. It caressed the walls and licked the curtains, but wound its way around right stage as if there were a protective barrier thrown up around them. The fire wormed its way through the pores in the wooden instruments, slowly burning them to ash. Everything from the trumpets to the metal rims on the drums were warped and shaped by the deep red flames. Left stage begged and pleaded with the desperation of a caged animal that the others must help them saved their doomed instruments; they weren't just pieces of wood and metal. The instruments were their purpose, their life, their world. They tugged at their shirts and sobbed at their feet without avail. The conductor didn't seem to care anymore, and a blank expression dominated his features. Right stage was stoic as well, and did not respond to the pleas coming from the lost souls.

When the walls finally burned down, a few lone pieces of wood still standing, and the instruments nothing but charred remains and scrap metal, the useless pleas stopped. Forever mourning, skin burnt, eyes empty, left stage could only sit and watch as right stage monotonously forced out the same morose tune over and over into nothingness.

**A/N This one-shot is dedicated to MoonlitSerenity, for without whom it wouldn't be posted. Please review **


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